


Eyes Like Windows

by QueenOfPlotTwists



Series: 31 Day Yu-Gi-October Halloween Challenge [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Halloween Challenge, Haunted Houses, October Prompt Challenge, Russian Mythology, The House Is Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfPlotTwists/pseuds/QueenOfPlotTwists
Summary: Yami arrives at his new home with his Grandmother, the Baba Yaga, deep in the heart of the Dark Forest and must pass his first trial--Impressing her House!Sequel to Conversations in a Flying MortarPart 3 of Prequel to the Walking House or How Yami came to be the notorious Baba YagaDay Four of 31 Day Y-G-October/Halloween Prompt ChallengePrompt 9: Eyes
Series: 31 Day Yu-Gi-October Halloween Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947991
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Eyes Like Windows

**Author's Note:**

> I have to keep reminding myself not to make these too long as they're SUPPOSED to be ficlets ^^  
> Even if I've gotten so many ideas for them--I don't want ALL my prompts to be for the same story after all.  
> Day 4 of my October Halloween Challenge  
> https://horrificmemes.tumblr.com/post/165553173026/31-horrific-days-v2-october-writing-challenge
> 
> Prompt 9: Eyes

The mortar descended slowly and came to rest with surprising grace in the heart of a small glade. Yami climbed carefully over the side of the bowl but lost his footing and tumbled onto the grassy knoll.

Above him the witch snorted and he shot her a look before wincing at the pain in his rump. Gathering his dignity, he forced himself to stand and surveyed the surroundings of his new home.

This deep in the forests the trees were like giants: coniferous towers and many-limbed monsters bursting from the ground. Brambles and briars bushed together in clusters and ferns and dead leaves carpeted the floor and the canopy was so large barely any sunlight leaked through the cracks in the forest roof. Hungry eyes glittered and gleamed and peered from the edges of the woods, curious and hungry. But in the clearing, the grass was a soft, golden sea, speckled with flowers. Birds sang from their upper nests, rabbits hopped across the way chased by flaming red foxes and mice scampered by his feet.

And there in the heart of the glade, kicking out its long, gangly chicken legs in a lively jig that danced in round, spinning circles was the famous cottage hut of Baba Yaya—the stories were true. The house danced and moved and spun on chicken’s feet!

It stopped mid kick, leg bent as if to jump, straightened itself, then turned as if it were looking at them. Then it did something truly strained, like a rooster ruffling its feathers it shook, squatted, raked the ground twice with its feet—then burst forward like a charging bull.

Yami crashed against the stone mortar, and terrified screamed out instinctively “Little House, Little House, turn your back to the trees and your face to me please!”

The house skidded to a harsh, furious stop sending up a cloud of dust in Yami’s face that had him spurting and coughing through the fit. When he turned up to glare at the house, he saw to his immense relief it had stopped. Now it stood, legs straight roofed arched slightly as if scrutinizing him. Then there was a huge gust dragging him upward, then blown out a few more times as if the door was sniffing him. He blinked, shook his head and looked up, just as the house plopped down on its hinged like a pup being told to sit.

Yami blinked in surprised and found himself staring up into the enormous eye-like stain glass windows above the door, smiling down at him playfully. To his amazement, he saw the house was not some small cottage but an enormous _dacha_ : though styled like a traditional Russian cottage, it sported multiple floors and decks connected by painted staircases=the first floor rooftops serving as deck space for the second floor shielded by the long slaps of the triangular roof with its colorful; shingles. On one side, a tower spiraled to a cone at the top where a spiral staircase connected one single window-like door to the second lower deck. The wooden logs of the structure had the same gray-wash color as the stones of the outer courtyard but the windows were stained glass and the decorations were colorful and bright with traditional Russian ornamentation.

The house itself sat in the middle of a courtyard: the front porch was a stone courtyard, a conservatory-like greenhouse jutted off the second floor shaped like the mortar, and all around were pockets of yard. The whole of which was encompassed by the notorious fence crafted entirely from dead man’s bones: the gateposts were dead man’s bones, the bolts were dead man’s arms, the locks were dead man’s teeth, and each post was crowned with a glowing ember-eyes skulls.

The house arched closer again, careful of its fence and posts until Yami was all but staring into those enormous window eyes whose stain glass pattern was eerily reminiscent of an owl’s.

“Um…hello house,” Yami greeted nervously and grunted.

The house seemed to enjoy this greeting and plopped gleefully back down on its hinges and. Was it purring? Or cooing? It didn’t sound like the creaky hounds of a house when disturbed by a particularly rough wind. “My…my…I’ve never seen anything so unusual…” he didn’t know how else to describe it.

The house cocked itself to the side, not unlike a bird, as if uncertain if the remark was a compliment or not.

“You are a living house…” Yami slowly realized and slowly all thoughts of fear became forgotten in his amazement. “Grandmother, is it really yours? I’ve never seen anything so amazing!”

Delighted the house shot up and did a lively dance to celebrate, it window eyes blinking and closing and Yami swore he could hear the house laughing until all its shutters opened once again and it plopped on the ground, causing a slight tremor as it did so and beckoned the boy to enter.

“You’re in luck, Myshka,” the witch chuckled behind him. She didn’t need to climb down from the mortar: even with her advanced age, all she had to do was stand on the rim and it tilted over so that her next step was on the ground. “Seems my House likes you. It’s a very good judge of character.”

The house pruned under the compliment and Yami swore he saw its window-eyes blink and close in happiness for the briefest of seconds.

“Let’s go then,” she summoned with a wave of her old hands, her crotchety voice the grind of flour mill long left abandoned. Yami followed her, approached the fence and jumped back when all the skulls and bones cackled and rattled, snapping their toothless jaws as if they meant to bite off his fingers.

The house groaned in disapproval. The Fence in turn chattered in indignation. Baba Yaga put an end to the whole thing by snapping the skull above the lock atop the head and shrieked “Unlock yourselves, my bolts so strong! Open up, my gates so wide!”

Obeying the chant, all the skulls froze, eyes glowing in unison, and the teeth rattled and clicked and opened with a disturbing snap.

Before entering, she turned to Yami and nudged him forward with a shove to his back. Not expecting the encouragement, the boy nearly stumbled forward, past skulls all chattering in confusion.

“Leave him be!” The Baba shrieked, scoldingly. “It is I, Baba Yaga who brings him here, the lad is my grandson. You will leave him be.”

The gates looked surprised and then suddenly the chattering and clicking turned into an uproarious welcome. Yami blinked at the sudden attention, unsure what to make of it. His grandmother swooped past him and ushered “Come, come. There is still much to see.”

“Huh?” Yami jumped and turned as if suddenly waking from a trance and was quick to follow. But not before casting one last glance on the welcoming, blinking owl-like stained glass eyes of Baba Yaga’s house.

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite part about Baba Yaga's folklore is without a doubt her House--seriously a house that walks and danced on chicken's feet? How cool is that! I also love the concept of it behind alive and having its own character and personality--hence the creation of this idea.


End file.
